


The Unseen

by amo-amas-amat (amoama)



Category: Alles was zählt
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-07
Updated: 2013-07-07
Packaged: 2017-12-18 01:28:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/874114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amoama/pseuds/amo-amas-amat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roman is gone and Marc and Deniz try to find a way through the pain, anyway they can. Mostly they try sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Unseen

**Author's Note:**

> The Major Character Death warning is for Roman not Marc or Deniz!
> 
> I've quoted James Blunt at the beginning, not just because I'm a sap, but because some shows sometimes like to use perfectly placed stabby stabby songs to really wedge the knife in your heart.  
> Whereas Geoffrey Hill was probably talking about Jesus/the Holy Spirit or whathaveyou but hey ho now I'm using it to mean Roman. Roman would most likely be okay with it, idk about Jesus. :S
> 
> Thanks to Aldi for the beta/tears. <3

_Though I may never see you again  
Touch me I will shiver at the unseen._ (Geoffrey Hill)

 _“And I still hold your hand in mine when I’m asleep.”_ (Goodbye My Lover, James Blunt)

Marc is in the café down the road from his apartment when he sees the notice. The panic hits his stomach before his brain has really digested the information. “Roman Wild… terminal illness”. He’s shaking from head to foot and tears are running down his cheeks but he still doesn’t understand what’s happened. He looks around him, suddenly conscious of being in a public place. It all looks the same. No one has noticed him. His mouth hangs open and he stares at all the other people, needing them to corroborate the story. How is it that he’s reading this in the paper? He just came out for coffee. 

He doesn’t know what to do. Who can he call? The only number he has is Roman’s, and he doesn’t even know if it’s current. He dials, hands barely able to clasp the phone.  
The voice on the answer phone message sounds so vibrant, so alive. For a moment Marc feels reassured and starts to speak. “Roman, Roman. I read something just now. I just wanted… Roman.” On the last word Marc hears the truth in his own voice. “Roman.” 

He puts his phone away carefully and lifts his hand to signal the waiter, he hands over the right change out of habit - not hearing a word the man says. He walks slowly though the other tables, out of the café and into the street. At his apartment building he manages a smile and a small hand gesture at the lady downstairs who is looking at him a little concernedly. He slowly climbs the stairs, hand on the banister, but at the top he sinks onto the last stone step and rests his head against the granite wall. It feels cool and still next to the pounding rush in his brain. He puts his hand across to touch the wall as well. How can it be true? 

*  
In the end it's Flo who brings it up. 

“Do you think Marc knows?” 

It's been in the paper – the local and some nationals – buried in the back with the other obituaries. Deniz thinks Axel said something about putting it in. 

Of course Marc knows. 

Deniz doesn't want to think about it. He’s spent so much time pretending Marc doesn't exist, that he never happened. But the thought of him follows Deniz around. Someone else is out there, he keeps thinking, someone else who might know what this feels like. It's strange to imagine that somewhere his grief might be reflected. 

Deniz wonders how Marc gets through the day, whether he stares vacantly at people’s lips as they speak – unaware of the words being spoken. Where does Marc put his anger? Does he feel the emptiness like a hollow ringing in his ears? Or is he used to it? 

Sometimes Deniz dreams about running into Marc. In the dreams Marc always says the same thing. “I would have looked after him better.” And then, “You did all you could, but I would have done more.” In the dreams Marc is crying but Deniz doesn’t cry. Instead, Deniz comforts Marc; he puts his arms around him, touches his hair, his cheek, clutches his shoulder and presses kisses to his temple. 

Deniz wakes up with the sobs still stuck in his throat. 

*

Deniz sees Marc and knows he knows.

*

Marc sees Deniz and knows it’s true.

*

There’s nothing to be done with this grief they share. It hovers between them, expanding the silence. They move together and embrace. Nothing could encapsulate their loss  
more. If he were alive, this would never happen. 

Deniz holds Marc because he knows Roman would have. 

Marc holds Deniz because it’s the closest he can get to Roman. 

Their bodies fit together well at this equal height. It feels strange and unfamiliar but neither one pulls away because that would mean finding words and acknowledging this new territory, this life where it’s just them and there’s no way back.

Eventually Marc says, “I’m sorry…” but can’t get to for your loss.It’s too formal, too little. Deniz lifts his eyes to Marc’s and smiles sadly. It seems like Deniz has said all he can say for now just by turning up. 

And Marc is full of gratitude to him for coming, for acknowledging him, and knowing he would be in pain. He hasn’t known how to tell people beyond, my ex-boyfriend died; how to explain what it feels like to lose for good something he’d already lost. Marc knows his grief isn’t just for himself; he knows that in a way there’s nothing for him to lose. It’s that it’s Roman and he shouldn’t be dead; it doesn’t matter that he’s not his boyfriend or even in his life, it’s Roman - who Marc has wanted everything for – and it’s for Roman’s sake that he grieves. The pain feels outside him, beyond his control, like the whole world is painful; everything looks the same but nothing feels the same. And he couldn’t save him, the time it mattered, he couldn’t help. He wasn’t even needed.

*

The next day they have lunch together and talk about little things like work and holidays and house prices in Hamburg. After they’ve eaten Marc mentions some video footage he has of Roman that Deniz might like to see. He’s glad now he held onto it all those years. Every time he moved he meant to throw it out or send it to Roman but he never did. He says that now, “I always meant to send these to him.” They both know why he didn’t. Deniz is moved that Marc would be willing to share his part of Roman with him and mentions that Flo might like to see it at some point, but he’s also nervous. What if it’s not someone he recognises? What if this is another part of Roman for him to realise he’s lost, or never had? 

The video is old and fairly grainy. It’s mostly of skating. They watch in silence as Roman glides round the rink. The jumps are breathtaking but Deniz feels scared watching them – what if Roman falls and he’s not there? Occasionally the footage is just people talking far away on the ice – you can’t tell what they’re saying but you can see from Roman’s expression whether they’re joking around or discussing the routine, his earnest face nodding and launching into a long diatribe about this step or that. Most times he flies off to demonstrate his point and they see another flurry of twists and leaps before he rejoins the group. There are bits with Marc as well. At one point Roman sweeps round Marc as they talk, laughing, and the look on Roman’s face - mirrored in Marc’s - would have told anyone all they needed to know about the two of them. It tells Deniz, who knows that look better than anyone, just how hard a choice Roman faced when Marc returned. Who wouldn’t want to be that young, that loved, that brilliant – again? 

Afterwards Deniz can’t look at Marc. Regret washes over him anew and he cringes into himself on the sofa, crying softly.

“Deniz,” Marc’s voice is tentative. “Deniz. It was a long time ago. You can see why I had to know. I mean, how do you let go of something like that? Of someone?” 

Deniz huffs out a bitter breath. “I don’t know.” 

They sit side by side on the sofa and eventually Deniz leans his head into Marc’s shoulder and Marc winds his arm around him. There really isn’t anything to say.

*

Deniz stays. It’s strange but he feels safe with Marc. He doesn’t feel any of the animosity he thought he would. The fact that Marc knows how this feels – so obviously, so completely – makes Deniz feel a little less alone. Marc doesn’t seem to mind. He makes up the spare room for Deniz and then pours them both a glass of wine. “Got the fois gras for breakfast tomorrow?” Deniz teases and Marc has the grace to look bashful. 

They talk but Marc doesn’t ask what it was like at the end for Roman – he can see Deniz can’t go there. He does mention the Ambassador run but Marc doesn’t push, just agrees sincerely when Deniz says, “And he’d have made it. He was truly fantastic. His performance.” Marc can believe it. Always has. Deniz doesn’t offer anything else but he seems to look to Marc for some kind of affirmation. 

Marc takes the glass from Deniz’s hand and puts it on the kitchen counter beside him. He takes Deniz in his arms then and rocks gently back and forth. He doesn’t know why he does it. He knows there’s nothing but pain for him here, that comforting this boy who took so much from him doesn’t get him back any of what he wanted. He’s already berating himself for being so foolish and yet he puts his hand up to the back of Deniz’s head, running his fingers through the shorn hair and then he presses his lips into Deniz’s neck. He means only to console but he feels Deniz tense in his arms. He pulls away to look at him. Deniz frowns, full of confusion, but then his eyes drag down to stare at Marc’s lips, as Marc almost knew they would. Deniz kisses him questioningly. No passion, just wonder. 

Deniz kisses Marc. The man that nearly cost him Roman. He can’t stop himself thinking about it. How did Marc hold Roman, how did he kiss him? Was it like this? He thinks of the times he caught them. Once in another kitchen, and then in the locker room. The memories make him recoil from Marc. Why would he do this? 

“You’re not Roman,” he says ridiculously. 

“No,” says Marc, “Nor are you.” 

It does make a strange kind of sense. The two people left behind. They both know really that they’re alone but right now it doesn’t quite feel like it. 

Deniz starts. “He used to run his hand round the rim of my jeans like this. I don’t think he knew he was doing it.” Deniz demonstrates on Marc, thumb dragging against skin and Marc smiles. It’s a nice memory, a nice sensation. “Yes.” 

The eyes in front of Deniz are kind and a little wild. He can’t stop searching for the other pair, the ones that say everything and know everything and laugh and burn. He feels frantic at not being able to find them; it makes him claw at Marc’s back through his shirt, press mouth on mouth fiercely, eyes shut tight. He doesn’t know if he’s chasing Roman away or clutching to find him. There’s always been escape for Deniz in this, however impermanently.

Deniz feels it like an amputation. There is no hand reaching up, insistently pulling his head down –and it’s not just the angle that’s different but the intensity as well. He wants to lean down and bury his head in Roman’s neck, to take in his smell and his warmth and pull him closer. He should see a small, knowing smile that curls to bite the lower lip and then purses in amusement - but even Marc’s kisses seem sad.

They pull each other’s shirts off. Marc remembers hands raised over dirty blond hair, a look of surrender, desire and home-coming drawing him in, pale skin stretched taut beneath him. Instead Marc sees a long, lithe body, full lips and strong fingers pressing into his skin. There used to be fingers that would run softly all over his skin, lighter than he could ever be himself, leaving him revelling in a grace he didn’t possess. Marc wonders if Deniz feels them too, whispering all over his skin in the wake of this new touch.

They stand before each other naked, appraising, looking for what he saw. There's a silent challenge running back and forth between them. Touch me how he touched me. You know how he felt, how he loved. Let me feel it again. Deniz wonders if Roman learnt from Marc, with Marc, all the things Roman showed him. He thinks again of the time in between, if Roman felt different to Marc the second time, the time after Deniz. Deniz thinks about how sometimes he would do something unexpected and the surprise would make the laughter fly out of Roman. He can’t think of Marc and Roman being like that; that feels like it's his and he wants it to himself. He frowns into Marc’s cheek, lips on his jaw, down his neck, pushing his head back, anywhere but Marc’s lips, he doesn’t want that now, not right now. 

Marc pulls him up. He senses Deniz has gone far beyond him. He’s back in the other world, the one with all the pain. Marc leads him into the spare bedroom, where the sheets are fresh and untouched. It’s not where he would have led Roman. 

Marc thinks he should be used to this. Last time it was Deniz who was the ghost in the room. He doesn’t know how he could be here again. Except that it’s Roman, and he can’t stop himself from clinging to whatever this is that makes him feel so close, so present. He guides Deniz down onto the bed and holds himself over him, face to face, eye to eye and he wants to lean his head in and brush his nose against Deniz’s but something stops him and he doesn’t dare. 

Deniz feels every moment together. Roman pushing him onto the bed; Roman falling beneath him; Roman coaxing him on his knees; folding him over on his back. He feels him writhing, twisting around him. Marc’s weight presses into him, steady and reassuring, as though letting the memories swirl round them. His hips rock into Deniz’s, drawing his attention back to the present. Deniz wants everything at once. He wants to stay in the past and to run from it. Marc’s back is broad and toned beneath his hands, Marc’s tongue traces his collarbone, his teeth graze his skin. Deniz wants to feel this and only this but the truth is he never wanted to feel this. 

Marc lets Deniz roll him onto his back and watches as Deniz moves down his body, exploring with his mouth. Deniz leaves one hand behind, resting on Marc’s shoulder and neck, such a familiar gesture, so different. He wants this; and yet, every tiny moment of recognition feels like a goodbye. He surges back over Deniz as though this is his chance to reclaim what he lost, to remember everything he’d made himself forget. Somehow through the pain it feels like he’s allowed them now - like with the skating videos – the memories have a different texture now, treasured, and unhidden. His hands on Deniz are anything but consolatory, they stroke his thighs and pull his legs apart; Marc reaches between. Deniz shudders beneath him, whether at the seen or the unseen, Marc doesn’t know. He doesn’t care because what he sees is of itself breathtakingly beautiful; sad, questioning, eyes, broken lips gasping; and what he doesn’t see surrounds him: a sharper, shallower breath keening towards him, thinner, quicker lips parted in pleasure. Marc wouldn’t know where else to go for this. 

Deniz feels Marc’s fingers, thicker than they should be, pushing in, pulling him apart. He feels adrift in this. He doesn’t know the rules. He’s so used to relying on Roman reading him, responding to him. He rarely just got his way, was always being wrestled and directed, teased and tempted. Marc moves smoothly and confidently against him but he doesn’t demand of him in the same way; his body encompasses Deniz’s, spreads heat through every nerve but it doesn’t flex and wring out commands like Roman would - not because he needed to, just because he could. And when Deniz finally comes, face-down into the pillow, Marc’s lips on his back, he sees nothing and can’t bear to turn over because the face and the eyes and the body can’t say what he needs them to say and can’t be who he needs them to be. 

*

Marc lies awake beside Deniz on the bed. He thinks about going back to his own room but he knows that somehow he lies in wait for himself there, the part of him waiting to confront himself for doing this, for being this person, again; the one who can’t seem to let go. He walks through his own house in the darkness. It feels like he’s the stranger here too tonight. Nothing is as familiar as it once was now Deniz is in it. 

*

Deniz wakes up in the empty bed. He knows where he is and what he did – what they did. Roman would smirk, he thinks, and his own mouth forms the ghost of the shape, but it dissolves half-formed on his lips. It’s so time–consuming, he thinks, seeing things for two, reacting for two. Don’t people know that? No wonder it’s taking him longer to process things these days. 

He gets out of bed to go to the bathroom. His head feels hazy and his body is aching with that satisfaction sex can bring. That’s when it washes over him again. It wasn’t Roman. It will never be Roman. Deniz’s legs give out and he sinks down against the bathroom door. He cries silently into his hands for the touch that he’s living without.  
Everyday its absence is tangible and he feels it now, resting on his neck, curling over his body, holding him gently while waiting for the worst to pass, again. There’s nothing to do in these moments but give over his body to the yearning and then swallow it back down as soon as he is able. 

*

Marc hears the shower go on and waits for Deniz to emerge. He hands him a coffee when he comes into the kitchen and Deniz thanks him politely, eyeing him warily. Marc can tell he doesn’t want to talk about anything. There still isn’t anything to say. Not really. Nothing real. Nothing that their bodies haven’t already said. They kiss goodbye softly, cautious of their fragile truce. Their hands, having clasped each other of their own accord, linger together as Deniz moves out the door. Deniz’s hand trails down over the banister like it’s an extension of Marc. Marc imagines those other fingers tangling with Deniz’s as they slide over the wood, but this time the ghost doesn’t spare him a glance farewell.


End file.
